Child, raise a fervent prayer to heav'n,
That this day's sin may be forgiv'n,
Ere you sink to sweet repose,
While evening's shadows round you close.The golden sun has sunk to rest,
Behind the curtains of the west,
And rosy twilight, soft and mild,
Brings gentle slumber to my child.The busy, bustling cares of day,
In noise and tumult pass'd away;
Solemn night, so still and deep,
Bids nature's wearied children sleep.Soft is the pillow of your rest,--
With health and friends, and comforts blest;
Then raise a fervent prayer to heav'n,
That ev'ry sin may be forgiv'n.The child began, "Father forgive
My many sins, and bid me live:
May I be humble, meek and mild,
Like Jesus, when a little child."O may this feeble soul of mine,
Be join'd to Christ, the living vine;
May I ever bow the knee,
And 'Abba, Father,' cry, to thee."Father, in heaven, hear my prayer,
And make a little child thy care,
Jesus has said, so let it be,
'Suffer such to come to me.'"But, mother, why's my pulse so still?
Mother, why is the air so chill?
And, mother, why are angels fair
Hov'ring o'er me, in the air?"Mother, with thee I cannot stay,--
Those angels beckon me away;
I feel this night, so still, so deep,
Will bring to me a lasting sleep.""My child, my child, can it be so?
Can I let my darling go?
Oh, yes--I see it plainly now,--
'Tis death's cold hand upon thy brow."Come, lay thy icy cheek to mine,--
I'd kiss thee once, ere I resign
To icy death, thy lovely form,
To feed the gnawing coffin worm."Corruption, nor the coffin worm,
Can thy triumphant soul deform;
That, enraptur'd, shall arise,
To dwell with Christ, beyond the skies."'Tis the dear Saviour bids thee come,--
His angels wait to bear thee home;
Loudly, he's saying now to thee,--
'Suffer such to come to me.'""Mother, all things are pure and bright;--
I see them by a heavenly light,
And beaming in the distance far,
I see the glorious morning Star."Farewell, mother," but the name
Died on her lips--life's quiv'ring flame
Had just expir'd; that deathless soul
Had burst its chains, and pass'd the goal.The mother meekly knelt in prayer,--
She felt that God's own hand was there,
Then wip'd one pearly tear away,
And rose to shroud her lifeless clay.So sweet a smile the lips still wreath'd,
It seemed life through their parting breath'd,
So gently death had o'er her crept,
That all who gaz'd might deem she slept.The mother watch'd, with earnest eye,
Her youngest Child before her lie,
Then meekly glancing up to heaven,
"Father, she was not lent, but given."Father, thou hast in mercy spoken,--
A tender tie from earth is broken,
But that same tie is link'd to heaven,
And stronger faith and hope are given."
A Mother's Prayer.
My children all have sunk to rest,
The youngest pillow'd on my breast,
And though 'tis midnight, stern and deep,
I still a mother's vigil keep.
Why comes so oft the unbidden sigh?
Why springs the tear-drop to my eye,
And why this agonizing prayer,
Ming'ling with the midnight air?
O, God, to thee I lift mine eye,
Help thou, or else my children die.
To thee my inmost thoughts arise;
By faith I pierce the vaulted skies,
And there I see thy risen Son,
Seated beside thee on the throne,
His pitying accents cry "Forgive,"
And let the thoughtless sinner live.
"Father, I have been crucified--"
"An ignominious death have died,--"
"Deep agony for sin have known;"
"Father, and will not this atone?"
I come, too, leaning on His breast,
There all my hopes and wishes rest,
And join with His my pleading voice,
That they may all in god rejoice.
May one melodious concert rise
From angels, bending from the skies:--
O'er new-born souls, redeemed on earth,
Rejoicing in their heav'nly birth.
Lead them in pastures green and fair,
And gardens planted by thy care;
Where streams of free salvation flow,
And fruitful trees of knowledge grow.
Father, I ask not sordid wealth,
Nor the more precious boon of health;
The only blessing that I crave
Is endless life beyond the grave;
That when the icy hand of death
Shall seize their frames, and stop their breath,
Their souls on wings of faith may rise
To life and joy beyond the skies.
O Father, grant me this request
And I shall be supremely bless'd;
Bend ev'ry stubborn, wilful knee,
And draw each wand'ring heart to thee.
But hark! I hear a cheering voice
That bids my waiting soul rejoice.
"Be still, and know that I am God,"
And bow submissive to the rod.
It seems almost that voice from heav'n,
Had spoke my childrens' sins forgiven,
So suddenly had calmness stole
O'er the deep currents of my soul.
Glory to God, who whispers peace,
And bids our hope and faith increase;
Glory to God, be echoed then,
'Till earth repeats the long amen.
Lines, Written in an Album.
Earthly beauties soon decay,
Earthly pleasures fade away;
Then raise your fond desires to heaven,
And let not all to earth be giv'n.Though touch'd by brilliant rainbow dyes,
Earth can contain no lasting prize.
But high above yon azure dome,
The ransom'd spirit finds a home.O, then make wisdom's ways your choice
In early youth. You will rejoice
To tread the straight and narrow way,
That upward leads to endless day.Then when life's little day is past,
Angels shall welcome thee at last
To yonder blissful, happy shore,
Where sin and sorrow come no more.
On The Death of a Mother.
O bring a robe of snowy white,
And fold it lightly o'er her breast;
Cold and pulseless now it lies,
The sainted spirit's sunk to rest;And gently fold the toil-worn hands,
And softly close the weary eyes;
Life's rugged journey now is past,
And calm in death's cold sleep she lies.That gentle heart has ceas'd to feel
The gushings of a mother's love;
But now a purer, holier flame,
Springs up in brighter realms above.And mother, though the tender tie
Uniting us, has thus been riven,
May we not feel a stronger bond
Drawing our trusting hearts to heaven?Now oft when evening's shadows steal
Across my path, thy voice I hear;
Again its well remember'd tones
Seem murmuring on my childish ear.And oft, when sorrow fills my breast,
And my worn spirit turns from earth,
There comes a gentle, well known voice,
Whisp'ring of the spirit's birth.'Twas hers to guide our infant feet
In wisdom's straight and narrow way,
To lead us to a Saviour's cross,
And teach our infant lips to pray.But now how blissful is her state,
Free from this cumb'rous, earthly clod,
Her ransom'd spirit fill'd with praise,
Joins the pure throngs that worship God.She's join'd her children in their home,
In those bless'd mansions far away,
Where sin nor death can ever come,
But all is bright, eternal day.And though our mother's pass'd from earth,
An angel bending from the skies,
Is ever hov'ring o'er our path,
Urging our weary souls to rise.Then let us her sweet precepts take,
Tread in the paths our mother trod,
Walk prayerfully the narrow way.
Directed by the word of God,Cleans'd by a dying Saviour's blood,
We may obtain the promis'd rest;
And when we pass away from earth,
Join our dear mother with the bless'd.Peace to thy memory, mother dear,
Sweet be thy slumber in the tomb,
'Till Christ in judgment shall appear,
And call His ransom'd children home.
The Music of Earth.
There's music in the summer breeze,
That sighs along the bow'rs;
There's music in the hum of bees,
That flit among the flow'rs.
There's music in the gentle show'r
That patters on the spray;
And music in the bubbling brook
That dances on its way.
There's music in the rustling leaf,
Before the zephyr's sigh,
And music in sweet childhood's laugh,
As it comes ringing by.
There's music in the warbler's song,
That trills his matin lay;
And music in the evening breeze,
As soft it dies away.
There's music in "Old Ocean's" wave,
That breaks upon the shore;
And music in the tempest's moan,--
The distant thunder's roar.
There's music in the things of earth,
Sweet music that we love;
But oh, there's music sweeter far
In yon bright world above.
Where angel bands, with golden harps,
Sing loud of sins forgiven;
And praises to a Saviour slain,
Fill the high dome of heaven.